


To Freedom

by Amoreanonyname



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Coda, Codependent Winchesters (Supernatural), Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode: s15e03 The Rupture, First Time, M/M, No Smut, Post-Episode: s15e03 The Rupture, Quote: Sam and Dean Winchester are psychotically irrationally erotically codependent on each other, Sharing a Bed, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-09
Updated: 2021-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-15 12:26:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29933385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amoreanonyname/pseuds/Amoreanonyname
Summary: “Well, if a man can’t get drunk in his own underground bunker after his brother gets forced to bend to destiny yet again after finding out he’s been manipulated by Actual God, I don’t know what to tell you.”
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester
Comments: 10
Kudos: 69
Collections: Every Time We Touch: A First-Time Wincest Fest





	To Freedom

**Author's Note:**

> My last entry in the Wincest First Time Challenge... for now. Coda to 15x03 The Rupture, because I will never believe Dean went back to his own bed that night.

Dean exhaled shakily as Cas walked out the door. Anger, too familiar, thrummed through his veins. He’d been spending a lot of time pissed off lately. 

Deep down, he knew none of it had really been Cas’ fault. Cas always acted with good intentions. _And it always went wrong_. Dean was fucking tired of it. Tired of his weakness, tired of his mess, tired of having an angel for a friend who couldn’t seem to fucking _do_ anything about any of this. It felt good to have someone to blame. Better than sitting and being helpless.

Fuck Chuck. Fuck Cas, fuck this entire world he’d given so much to save. All he’d wanted, _all he’d ever wanted_ , was to kill monsters with his brother and live out his life. Everything that had happened to them both, for… for _entertainment_.

Dean sighed again and poured out a second tumbler. Then shrugged and tucked the entire bottle under his arm. Sam needed it even if he wouldn’t seek it out himself. The Rowena thing was hitting him hard. Sam deserved this crap even less than he did. 

Nudging the door back open with his foot, Dean eased back into Sam’s room, anger evaporating. Sam had at least gotten out of his shirt, was in his sweats sitting up on the bed. Sam took the proffered drink and shuffled over slightly, making room for his brother. Exchanging a look, they clinked glasses sadly.

“To freedom”, Dean toasted. Sam smirked dryly. They made quick work of the scotch. Dean poured two more. Sat there in silence for a moment.

“Do you wanna talk about it?”

Sam crooked a sad smile. “Since when do _you_ want to talk about things?”

“Since I just want you not looking like that anymore.” 

“I don’t look like anything.” But Sam’s smile became just a bit more genuine, and he shifted closer to Dean.

“That’s better.” Dean slurred. He’d started in on the scotch before getting back to the room, and it was starting to hit him now. They’d barely slept in days, and Dean wasn’t getting any younger. He topped them both up anyway.

Sam gasped in sarcastic surprise. “ _Dean_ , I think you’re _drunk._ ”

“Well, if a man can’t get drunk in his own underground bunker after his brother gets forced to bend to destiny yet again after finding out he’s been manipulated by Actual God, I don’t know what to tell you.” 

It was the wrong move. The smile slid from Sam’s face as he sighed and scrubbed a hand over his face. 

“Dean, I thought we were free. I thought that was _it_. And I still had to do it.”

“I know you did.” 

“Just. How are you _dealing_ with all this? It’s just…” Sam let the sentence trail off. A sign the scotch was hitting him too. 

“To be honest? I’m not, really. I’m angry, I’m _pissed_. I wanna punch Chuck right in his stupid fucking face. I wanna kill every last one of them. But just…”

“Just what?”

“Not _here_. Not now.” Dean knew he was about to say something heavier than what they usually said to each other. The booze was relaxing him enough to talk a little looser than usual. 

“Sam, it’s like I walk in here, and all that shit goes away. Out there, I’m just so pissed off about everything. In here… all I wanna do is make you not feel so sad anymore.”

Sam looked a little surprised, and let that sink in for a moment, leaned into Dean’s arm, before tears welled up in his eyes and he smiled in spite of himself. Dean squeezed Sam’s knee.

“Still your little brother, huh?”

“Always will be.” At that, Sam reached over and squeezed Dean’s knee back. 

“I… I think I need you here tonight. I know it’s weird, but…” 

“.... I wasn’t gonna go anywhere unless you kicked me out.” 

Finishing their glasses, they slid down into Sam’s bed, flicking out the lights on each side. Dean wasn’t sure what to do next. It wasn’t a big bed, Dean wasn’t sure if Sam just wanted him physically there, or if he wanted to be, like, touched or something. They’d never done this before - he’d had an inkling he’d be bunking in tonight though, given the shape Sammy was in and the way he’d made up the room.

Sam needed it. Even if he wouldn’t seek it out himself. 

Dean always gave Sammy what he needed. Dean always gave him everything.

Sam turned to face him, planting one giant mitt of a hand over Dean’s heart. Splaying his fingers, Dean felt the warmth of it radiating across his chest. Both closed their eyes and Dean exhaled slowly.

“Rowena. I hadn’t wanted to do it, Dean, I hadn’t. But she said to me - she said, ‘Would you let the world die, let your brother die, to save me?’ And Dean, after that I didn’t even hesitate.” 

“‘Course you didn’t, Sammy. It was hard, but you knew you had to do it. You’ve always done the hard things like that.” 

_“Why are we like this?”_ Sam asked at a whisper. His hand was still on Dean’s chest, still feeling Dean’s heartbeat. Because he needed to. Because God was a joke, and maybe Dean’s heartbeat was the only thing he could really believe in right now. 

“Dean, are we like this because of-”

“ _No_ , no. Us, this-” Dean pressed against Sam’s hand. “- this isn’t Chuck. It can’t be. It won’t be.” He spoke with a certainty he didn’t really feel, but with all the defiance he could muster at whatever goddamn hour it was and too many glasses of scotch. 

“How can you be so sure?”

Dean moved to stroke back Sam’s hair - an old habit from when they were kids, something he still did instinctively whenever he was hurt or upset. He dropped his voice low and powerful.

“Nothing like this could come out of Chuck. He doesn’t know how. He doesn’t feel this. His - his sister. Where’s Amara now? Chuck looks out for Chuck only. He can’t feel this, he can’t know what it’s like. _This_ is ours. And nobody fucking else’s.” 

Dean hadn’t meant to, well, say _that_. He paused, embarrassed. Too far? Too weird? Too much? 

Apparently not, because Dean heard a choked-off sob in the dark, before Sam somehow moved in closer. Moved his hands up to frame Dean’s face. Their faces inches apart, he didn’t seem to know what to say. Dean reached up and clasped one of Sam’s hands against his cheek.

“Sammy, you know I’m not going anywhere.”

A huffed nod in the dark. What Dean had done their entire lives. Reminded Sam what mattered, reminded him that everyone else might come and go, but he, _them_ , were always there to stay. A naive promise as kids, somehow made deeper with time. With the experience of being tested, and knowing nothing _could_ break them apart. 

It felt like a fragile moment, lying in bed together, noses rubbing, hands on tear-streaked faces. Too much, too intimate, too close. Not right. Inappropriate. 

And not for the first time. They’d stood on this ledge before, after too many drinks and feeling too much. 

But Dean couldn’t bring himself to pull away this time. Couldn’t bring himself to push Sam’s hands off him like he had in the past, push him off and tell him to go to sleep, like he used to, when it got like this. 

Other times this had happened, he felt he had to… _protect_ Sam, even from himself. From what he wanted, from his own shame. And maybe he was protecting himself too. Dean would do anything in a second. He was good, he was down. But Sam, so focused on _normal_ , if something happened, and Sam woke up regretting it, woke up hating himself, woke up wanting to be as far away from Dean as he could get, woke up wanting to forget it ever happened, Dean wasn’t sure what he’d do. He wouldn’t be able to handle it. So whenever it got too close, whenever it seemed like it was heading towards something between them that shouldn’t happen, he became the big brother, he pumped the brakes. 

But tonight? He wanted to be close to Sam, Sam wanted to be close to him. They’d both lost too much. They both needed each other. 

And he had learned to trust Sam more than he used to. Trust him not to bolt, not to freak out, to deal with whatever happened. Sam hadn’t run in a long time, he’d worked hard to prove to Dean that he was in it now, just as much as Dean.

“Will you hate this in the morning?” Dean whispered. 

“No.” Sam whispered back, closing the distance between them. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you all for reading! As always, feedback is life!


End file.
